Kaylee's Keeper (4 page)

He also looked like he spent his weekends bench-pressing compact cars. Holy Hannah, his arms were big!

“You guys can go,” he told the constables once he’d drawn near enough not to have to shout.

Giving her a final pat, they did, and Kaylee found herself staring miserably up at that giant of a man. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he countered. “Not liking the scene you were dropped into or for lying on your application?”

As if she didn’t feel bad enough already, Kaylee felt her shoulders droop. She looked down at her hands and picked at her fingers. “I didn’t lie,” she lied.

Jackson shrugged, first with his eyebrows and then with his shoulders. “All right, if that’s the story you want to stick with. I guess I’ve just never seen someone with as much experience as you’re supposed to have come shooting out of the dungeon quite so fast. But you know what? That’s all right. Maybe you filled out your application with one taste in mind and came all this way only to find your taste had changed.”

Still picking at her fingers, she glanced up at him. “You’ve seen that happen before?”

“Ha. More than once. I’ll let you in on a badly-kept secret around here.” Tugging at the legs of his jeans, the security guard pulled up a section of wall and sat down in the grass beside her. His broad shoulder bumped hers but, big as he was, she couldn’t tell if that was meant to be playful or just accidental.

“Not everybody finds their fit their first day here,” he confided. “I was on my…seventh, I think, scenario before I discovered my comfortable niche, and I work here. Everybody’s different. I’ve met people who can walk into any room with any partner and have a blast. I’ve met others who have to have an emotional connection first or the play part just doesn’t happen. For me, it’s chemistry, and I’m not talking physical…although—” He playfully (this time for certain) bumped her. “—that sure doesn’t hurt. But I’ve done this long enough to know what I need: a partner who is genuine, personal and who I can consider a friend first. Otherwise, I’m just going through the motions. So, why am I telling you this?”

She looked from her fidgeting fingers to him.

“Because this is the point at which we have two options: one, you can talk to the boss about a refund and go home; or two, you can talk to the boss about trying something different until you figure out what works for you. We don’t just do one type of scene here. We do dozens, with dozens of different flavors and nuances that make each one unique and special. Eventually, as we get to know you—and you us—we’ll find ways to cater those scenes specifically to you.”

Kaylee glanced at the cellar doors, still standing wide open not far away. She almost hated to ask. “What about the Gaoler?”

“Ah.” The security guard waved his hand. “Don’t worry about him. We tossed Candace into the room almost as fast as you ran out of it. She’s played with Master Dominick before and, believe it or not, she loves that dynamic level of intensity far more than she likes being a Little Maid. So don’t worry about him and don’t worry about her, either. Let’s just worry about getting you taken care of, all right?”

In spite of herself, Kaylee relaxed a little. “All right.” She offered him a tentative smile, and he patted her on the leg.

Climbing to his feet first, he offered her a hand up. “My name’s Jackson.”

“Kaylee,” she replied, then startled as she realized what she’d done. It must have shown in her somewhere because, although he never quite lost his open, friendly smile, his expression turned censoring. His warm grip tightened and he pulled her to him, leaning down to give her a very effective Look. Her bottom tightened and then thrilled, a tingling sensation that suddenly ignited all over her clenching backside and down the backs of her thighs. It was a dreadful and yet wonderful feeling, all at the same time.

“Would we like to change our answer?” he asked.

“I meant Judy.” She grinned sheepishly when his Look turned knowing and bit her bottom lip. “My name is, um, Judy.”

“Uh huh.” He let go of her hand. “If there weren’t rules against it, and if only the boss weren’t now waiting to speak with you, I’d be sorely tempted to take you for a little walk out into the garden. Not only is the weeping willow in full bloom, but the switches there are green and lithesome and will last just long enough to make sure you remember the Castle Submissives’ Number One Rule.” He pinned her with that knowing Look again. “Young ladies who forget to follow the rules get their bottoms spanked. Keep your real name for you and you alone.”

“Right.” She tucked her hands behind her, clasping them tightly to keep from touching her tingling backside. The fear that had sent her racing from the dungeon had  completely vanished, leaving behind only the giddiness that his Look and warm hand had left in her.

“Come on.” He clapped her on the shoulder and Kaylee fell into step beside him, following him through the front castle door like everyone else this time.

The castle interior was every bit as opulent as the exterior suggested. As she slipped out of the sunlight into the shadows within, her sneakers squeaked on the hard marble floors and her fingers began to fidget. Some of her initial excitement was beginning to return. Maybe Jackson was right. So, her first match wasn’t a success. Maybe the next person would be more like Jackson—open, friendly, fun and with a Look that made her whole body come tingling to life. She really liked that.

They passed far fewer people inside the castle than Kaylee expected, and most of those were probably staff members, judging by how many maids and manservants, kitchen, stable and garden workers there were. But there were also lords and ladies in full Victorian-era regalia, too, and it very quickly became apparent that her assumption that staff would be dressed to look like staff, making visitors more easily recognizable, might not be correct.

The main foyer was massive, an open design lined with Grecian pillars and feeding off into two separate halls and several rooms. As Jackson led her toward an ornate, curving staircase, she caught glimpses of castle life through the open doorways. Well-dressed men and women mingled in the morning library, sipping coffee, reading both books and newspapers, watching a quietly-playing TV (a view completely at odds with the clothes they wore), and she even saw a few laptops. What she didn’t see, was a clearly-defined guest or staff member anywhere among them.

Across the hall, in the brightly-lit sunroom, maids were quickly and quietly cleaning around a group of chatting ladies. She didn’t see Selena in either room, although she thought she recognized one of the ladies as well as one of the maids. It was hard to tell; she only caught half a glimpse of each as she passed each doorway.

Tucked up under the staircase, practically hidden from main-room view, was a long hallway from which wafted the smell of lunch cooking and the faint clatter of dishes. Hearing laughter and the distant bark of orders being given, Kaylee didn’t realize she’d paused to listen until Jackson cleared his throat. She hurried to catch up with him on the stairs and they headed up to the second floor balcony together.

The castle was much bigger than she’d envisioned. Broken into wings, it housed both public and private rooms interspersed together. At the very top of the stairs were two sets of closed double doors, each marked with a demure and exchangeable plaque. The one they passed read: "Sensation Play: 2:30 pm."  Kaylee glanced at her watch. It was a few minutes past; apparently, they were already in session.

Jackson led her off the balcony toward the right, but only as far as the first door they came to. He knocked briskly twice and the response was immediate. “Come.”

Opening the door, Jackson held it for her but did not go inside. Kaylee didn’t go inside either. She fidgeted with her fingers, trying to peer beyond the blocking door. All she could see was bright daylight, red and gold area rugs and part of a desk tucked up near the windows.

Reaching for her, Jackson cupped her shoulder and coaxed her forward. His warm breath brushed her ear. “Good luck,” he said, smiling and patting her once before shoving her well into the room and closing the door softly behind her.

Kaylee went only as far as his arm had thrust her and not one step further. The boss was the very man she had glimpsed from the courtyard outside. Seated behind a massive mahogany desk, his shirt was still white, his vest still black, and he definitely looked like a man in charge. Twin multi-paned windows stood at his back, the shutters thrown open to let in the light, and there was a single crook-handled cane hanging on a peg just behind him. A small mound of paperwork was stacked neatly at his left hand. Currently, his attention was fixed on a single manila file folder, lying open with its contents spread out before him. Kaylee didn’t need to be any closer than this to know it probably had the word ‘Judy’ penned across the filing tab. He was going over the questionnaire, line by line, pen in hand.

“Come in,” he said, without looking up. “Sit down.”

Did she have to?

Fingers twisting in the hem of her t-shirt, Kaylee crept a few steps closer. She watched as he slowly reached the bottom of that first sheet and then turned the page. He looked to be about halfway through her initial, online application. She wasn’t at all looking forward to the conversation bound to ensue once he’d reached the end of that fantasy-rich questionnaire. She didn’t want to have to admit how very inexperienced she really was or the reasons behind her lies.

She looked again at the cane hanging on the wall peg behind him, and that was where her eyes were lingering when he happened to glance up.

“I don’t intend to use that on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He gestured to one of the two chairs positioned just opposite of his desk. “Sit down, Ms. Waters. Please.”

Feeling silly, Kaylee selected a seat and lowered herself to perch on the cushioned edge. She locked her hands tight together to keep them from continuing their worried wringing.

Studying her a moment, the man stood and leaned across his desk to extend his hand. “Master Marshall, at your service.”

His grip was warm and sure.

“Is that your real name?” she asked when he let her go and sat back down again.

His eyebrows arched. “Yes, actually. I am one of six masters here who go by their real first name. No one else does. No guests and no other staff members.”

“Oh.”

Picking up his pen, he dropped his attention to her questionnaire once more. “I am trying to figure out what happened today. Perhaps you can help me. Was Master Dominick not the right partner? Mentally, were you not in the right headspace for that kind of scene, or did we make a mistake in the placement…” He let the question hang, glancing up then as if welcoming her to fill in the blank.

“It felt really real.” She kept saying that, but it was no less true now than it had been when she’d first clawed her way up the cellar steps and back out into the daylight. “It was…very intense.”

Marshall blinked twice and then a corner of his mouth began to curl. “He threatened to use the bullwhip, didn’t he?”

Just the sound of that word was enough to make her shudder. “Yes.”

His smile grew a little. “Would it make any difference at all if I told you he can use that thing better than I use a cane? Admittedly, you haven’t any experience with either, but trust me on this, I know how to use a cane.”

Her eyes were again drawn to the implement on the wall behind him. Her fingers picked at one another. She swallowed, but her mouth had gone completely dry.

“He brought the whip with him the first time he came here,” Master Marshall continued. “I made him prove his proficiency when I realized he had it. He can snap the wick off a candle ten times out of ten and yet never break the skin on his submissive. I was very impressed. I almost offered him a job. Of course, that’s neither here nor there.”

Dismissing the entire conversation with a wave of two fingers, he returned his attention to the questionnaire. “Answer one question for me. This part here, where you described a previous experience that you’d like most to recreate, you detailed a non-consensual captivity scenario. Is that still true or would you like to change it to something less…intense?”

She’d put non-consensual captivity down as the scene she most wanted to recreate? Kaylee reached for the questionnaire when he held it out to her and stared in disbelief at what she’d written. She could only hope her surprise wasn’t obvious. One…two…three full seconds of silence longer than any honest reply required ticked by while she struggled to come up with a believable excuse for why she would put that down and not really mean it. She raised her eyes to his, but she could already tell that he had arrived at his own conclusion.

“There’s at least one in every bus load,” he said, letting out his breath with a sigh. “Tell me, Miss Waters, is it just this question or is the entire questionnaire incorrect?”

Caught.

It was a dreadful feeling. One that sat vibrating in the pit of her stomach until she felt like throwing up.

“I-I misunderstood the question,” she lied.

“Okay.” He did not look convinced. “Did you misunderstand this one question or did you misunderstand the entire questionnaire? This is the tool we use to set up your scenarios. If there are inaccuracies, then your chances of landing in a scene you’ll find enjoyable are significantly diminished.”

Suddenly defensive, Kaylee opened her mouth, but Master Marshall held up his hand. “Wait, just let me tell you something first. I am a dominant and a sexual sadist, Ms. Waters. I love the allure of consensual non-consent. There are few things that compare with the feel of a woman pinned across my knee, kicking, flailing, crying out as I paddle her beautiful backside, behaving for all she’s worth as if she wants to escape when in reality we both know her slick little pussy is getting hotter and wetter with every slap of my hand. I am thoroughly attracted to hot, sore bottoms. I love the sight of nipple clamps and feminine curves trapped in fast restraints. I love the sound of haughtiness breaking down into sharp cries, of tearful pleas escalating into shrieks before dissolving into sobs even when we both know that my stopping is the very last thing she wants. What I don’t love to see or hear is a woman screaming and crying while she’s running for the door. That’s a very different thing and the absolute last thing I want one of my guests to do. Now.” He held up his hand again. “I’m not yelling at you.”